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All posts for the month June, 2013

Yesterday my friend Robo-Flaime came up with a new word to describe my Diet Coke habit. Chain-Cokeing.

Chain-Cokeing [cheyn-kohking], verb, – To drink Coke continuously, as by cracking the next bottle in anticipation of completing the first. (Related forms – Chain-Coker.)

Other interesting phrases from our conversation:

Well, The Plague was pretty bad. (Yes, as in The Black Plague.)

I’m a black moth.

I only like the fancy pigeons.

We can, but it’s not productive.

I like the ones with feathers on their feet.

Thanks for the break from life Robo-Flaime.

Writing Exercise:

I’ve been thinking about faith a lot lately. I’ve been reading Speaker for the Dead, and considering how I could add more faith into my writing. Not because I’m a deeply religious person but because I see how deeply faith effects and motivates people. But what is faith? I know that despite the absence of formal religion in my life I have a deep sense of faith. Maybe not in the traditional way, but I believe things deeply and I think that counts.

So, for today’s exercise join me in considering faith. Do a mind map for the word and see what it means to you then spend thirty minutes defining faith. Your work could be a short essay, a letter explaining your view of faith to a child or even a short story about someone finding faith in something (themselves, a religion, another person, whatever). Happy writing.

If a soul is crushed in the forest and no one is there to hear it…it still makes a pretty sad sound.

This week has been a series of highs and lows.

High: I registered for the Surrey International Writers’ Conference (SiWC) and I’m so excited. Just looking at the list of speakers and workshops has me ready to write. It’s also inspired me to write a bit more each day. When I first attended SiWC I used the conference as motivation to get the first draft of my first novel done. This year maybe I’ll arrive at the conference with the first draft of my second novel in hand. (Wish me luck…and dedication…and hard work – I’m fairly certain luck alone wont do it.)

Low: I saw a tragic traffic accident.

High: I found out I passed a test (at work) which means I am on to the second round of interviews for a promotion.

Low: I found out that I didn’t pass a test (at work) which means I am out of the running for a promotion. (Confused? Me too. I’m in three different application processes at the same time.)

High: I got a great deal on a new set of Gordon Ramsay cookware.

Low: I found out that I have to season the pots, and can’t use them in the dishwasher.

High: My husband realized I was going to cry so agreed to season the pots for me and I had a two hour nap.

Low: I received the nicest (yet still soul crushing) rejection letter ever. For the record the rejection was filled with praise and enormously valuable feedback that I’m sure I’ll appreciate when my soul pops back into shape.

High: I saw my sister for dinner and got the best one-liner of the year.“Bread Lady is stripper-pretty.”
Ok, maybe you had to be there but when we were talking for the dog (because he can’t talk himself but clearly has a lot to say) my sister is “Bread Lady” because she gave him bread once. The rest gets even harder to explain but it was funny I promise; there were tears.

Now I’m going to bed. I’m tired and I absolutely refuse to have any more experiences. This week is over!

Writing Exercise:

If souls were recyclable could they be farmed and harvested intentionally? Happy writing.

Need more help? If you found out your soul would certainly end up in another person or thing once you were dead (perhaps mediums could track it) could your soul become a commodity? What would happen for example if in this life you could barter the next say 10 iterations of your life for wealth or long life or another desirable thing. Then in you next life a medium would track where your soul ended up and that person or thing would be the indentured property of a person or corporation. Would you remember the deal? Would there be soul contracts and maybe even souls on the run?

I hate that my managers ignored my e-mail. I hate assumptions. I hate how my muffin made my mouth feel dry. I even hate that “my muffin made my mouth” is an alliteration (and that doesn’t even make sense because alliteration is fun).

I’m happy in-between the hate. I joke and smile but every time there is a bit of tension or stress, rather than dealing or letting it roll off my back, I have a little surge of hate to deal with.

This reaction could be useful if I was attacked by Ninjas or trying to return a defective product. (After all who couldn’t use a little hate-fuel when in a fight to the death.) But sadly, and happily, no fights to the death are forthcoming…just regular day stuff.

I know (in the thinking part of my brain) that I don’t actually hate things; I’m just tired and a bit emotionally burnt. (I saw a horrible accident a couple of days ago.) But for some reason the thinking part of my brain and the reacting part of my brain aren’t on speaking terms.

Reacting Brain – Everything is horrible, people are stupid and I hate everything.

Thinking Brain – You’re just tired.

Reacting Brain – La la la la la la. I can’t hear you.

Thinking Brain – I’m just going to leave this supportive message here for when you’re ready to hear it.

Reacting Brain – Stop leaving me messages. I hate messages!

Thinking Brain – We love our life.

Reacting Brain – One more message and I’m reporting you as a stalker.

In good news, I feel better today than I did yesterday and I’m pretty sure I’ll feel even better by tomorrow. In other good news I totally channeled the icky feelings yesterday into writing.

Writing Exercise:

Seeing a tragic event always gets me thinking about how I would handle a similar event. It makes me want to tell everyone I care about how much I love them. This time that desire came out in writing and after I saw a terrible accident I wrote a rather strange love song. (See below.) So today, put pen to paper and join me in writing a message to someone you love. Say it in lyrics, say it in a poem, say it in an essay or a letter…just say it. Happy writing.

NB. Dear everyone I love. I love you. I wish I had more time to see you but my time management skills need work. And my plan to slow the spin of the earth to add a few extra hours to each day has been deemed “unlikely” and “the sort of thing an evil villain would plan” (haters). But please know you’re in my thoughts.

Sharing: (It’s a song. Pretend you can hear me humming.)

You’re the one I’d call if there were no tomorrow. Yah. You’re the name I’d sigh with my last breath. You’re the one I’d call when it all came down. My ICE, my love, my heart, my own.

If it was me against the world, I’d wish you far away. Cause if I have to go, I wanna know you’d stay. How could it be fine if you crossed over the line?

oooh, oooo, ooooh.

It’s your face I wanna see when my life’s flashin’ by. Yah. If they ask who should we call, I wouldn’t think twice. When my mind fills up with fear only you can make it clear. My ICE, my love, my heart, my own.

If it was me against the world, I’d wish you far away. Cause if I have to go, I wanna know you will stay. If there’s a world without you, I wouldn’t want to know that place ‘Cause hand in hand my friend, I’ll be yours past the end.

Today I faced a demon. (Spoiler alert. I won.) Not the fire breathing, horn bearing kind but the florescent lit, made of Lycra kind; I went to buy a new swimsuit. I’d put the task off for a while, telling myself that the saggy blue monstrosity I always wear is still in perfect shape. (It’s not. It’s a saggy blue monstrosity.)

To avoid buying a swimsuit I tell myself that swimsuits are magical things that never wear out or go out of style, so why bother buying another? Then each time I go swimming (and reality comes crashing in around me) I tell myself that I’ll buy a suit next time. Then I pull out the blue strip of stretchy fabric that lives in the far back corner of my lowest drawer, drag it over my body and rush past all the mirrors to plunge into the pool all the while thinking “they are not looking at you, they are not looking at you”. Because, even the special hell that is walking from the dressing room to the pool side is nothing, NOTHING, in comparison to shopping for a new strip of Lycra in which to take that walk of shame.

During the swimsuit buying process I undergo the nausea inducing pitch and yaw of my rational and irrational mind taking turns at the controls.

Rational Mind – We are going to buy a new swimsuit.

Irrational Mind – Run. Now. Preferably screaming.

Rational Mind – Just look for something with ruching in a bright pattern that won’t let the eye settle.

Irrational Mind – Swimsuit stores are full of poison gas. Flee now!

Rational Mind – No one really looks good in these things. Try to find a colour that compliments you.

Irrational Mind – If you stand here long enough, pretending to make up your mind, maybe you’ll drop five pounds by missing lunch.

Rational Mind – There is a perfect suit for everyone.

Irrational Mind – Maybe if I try on that bikini, the other choices won’t look so bad. And you never know, a bikini might just be the look for –

Rational Mind – Quit stalling and buy one damb it!

Irrational Mind – The sales lady is judging me.

Rational Mind – Agreed.

You see my rational mind knows that no one is looking at me, that there are lots of nice suits for every body type and that the joy of swimming shouldn’t sacrificed due to low self esteem. However my irrational mind is convinced of two things simultaneously:

I will never look good in a swimsuit and should just wear a towel to the water like in the song.

If I look hard enough I will find a swimsuit that, when tugged into place, will reveal the body I was meant to have. – The suit that will match (with outer beauty) the joy I feel while flailing clumsily through the water lost in the childhood fantasies (fueled by watching Splash twenty or thirty times) that I am in fact a graceful mermaid.

So I wait as long as possible to buy a new suit, before facing reality, a three way mirror and the awkward bumpy thing that is my body wrapped in Lycra.

Sadly (and happily) I was invited to a stagette party at a spa, with hot tubs, and saunas, and (probably) people who would be confused and upset if I spent the day sprinting from one pool of water to another, clutching a soggy towel around myself and muttering, “Shut up.” and “I don’t point out your bad dye job.” to the judgey voices in my head. So I put on my brave face and went to shop for a new swimsuit and…

Wait for it…

I had a great day.

I walked in to see racks of colourful Lycra, mocking me. But, I forced a smile onto my face and asked the sales lady if they had my size. I selected a number of swimsuits that held promise, then I held my breath and entered the change room.

The fluorescent light had a softer incandescent partner, illuminating the selection of suits waiting for me on hangers.

I prepared myself for the worst but found something unexpected. The first suit I tried on not only fit me…it looked half decent. In a daze of disbelief I pulled another on, then another, realizing that while not all of them were great (and none magically transformed me into a mermaid) that I actually liked some of them.

I was struck with awe. I was struck with gob. I was struck with a hanger that fell from the hook. But there it was…I was in the presence of… a good day swimsuit shopping.

I bought two suits. Well one, and a pair of ladies trunks (where the heck have these been my whole life?). Spa here I come!

Writing Exercise:

Who do you share your writing with? Is it a best friend, a spouse or a writing group? Who would you be terrified to share your writing with? Would it fill you with dread to show a piece to your boss a judgey relative or a stranger? Choose someone who you would never dream of sharing your writing with. Think about why you feel that way. Now pick up your pen and start writing with that person as your audience. The piece could be a letter to them, or it could be a piece of fiction. It could be a story you think they wouldn’t enjoy with a twist to bring them around to liking it. Whatever you choose your goal should be to work your fear of sharing with this audience into the story without fear because you never have to show this to that audience. I think you’ll be surprised at how powerful addressing your fears can be. Happy writing.